Dead Man Docking - Mary Daheim [30]
“Erma’s attorney and business adviser,” Rhoda replied. “He, too, dances the dance. Though I suspect he’s plying Erma for investment funds these days. Horace wants to build a museum in San Mateo.”
“To himself?” Renie inquired.
Rhoda shook her head; the perfectly coiffed auburn hair didn’t move. “It’s to be a cork museum. Sponges, too, I think.”
Judith gaped. “What for?”
“Oh—wine corks from all the world’s finest labels—and the Napa Valley, naturally. Historic corks. Famous corks. Corked corks. Corks are beginning to lose favor, even with some of the finest vineyards. Thus, he figures they will become collector’s items. Who cares? It’s what’s in the bottle that counts. As for the sponges…” Rhoda dismissed them with a shrug.
“What about the blond bombshell?” Renie queried. “CeeCee Something-or-other.”
“Orr,” Rhoda said. “Rhymes with…never mind.”
“More or less than a gold digger?” Judith asked.
“Why,” Renie put in, “does Mrs. Giddon allow her financial adviser to bring a cheap hussy on this cruise?”
“Who would you two think has the real leverage?” Rhoda queried.
“Who has the most money?” inquired Renie.
“What about influence?” Rhoda remarked.
“Influence or affluence?” said Judith.
The three women stared at one another and burst into laughter.
At that moment, the door opened and Rick St. George appeared, looking as dapper as ever. If he was startled to see the cousins, he didn’t show it. “Ladies! Such a mirth-filled goddesslike trio! Given tonight’s dire deeds, you should be somber, like the Fates. Which is Clotho, which is Lachesis, which is Atropos?”
“More like the Three Stooges,” Renie retorted. “Two of them, at least. Why don’t you tell Curly and Moe here how dire are the deeds?”
“Yes, darling,” Rhoda put in, “I’m curious, too.”
Rick sailed his hat across the room; it landed atop an abstract marble sculpture. “Dire enough,” he replied, abandoning his urbane manner. “I’m afraid our host was stabbed to death.”
“Really!” Rhoda sounded only vaguely surprised. “That’s a shame. Do you know who did it?”
“Not yet,” Rick responded, moving to the bar to fix himself yet another martini. “In fact, we aren’t sure yet what weapon was used.”
“It wasn’t in the body?” Rhoda asked in a curious tone.
“No dagger, no shiv, no butcher knife, no quaint native spear. Removed by the killer, I presume.” With a practiced hand, he wielded the martini shaker. “Might be that said weapon could be closely identified with the evildoer.”
“Was there very much blood?” Rhoda inquired. “I don’t care for blood, as you well know.”
“Some blood, darling,” Rick replied, putting one foot on a leather footstool. “We won’t dwell on it. Whoever did the dirty deed knew exactly where to strike the lethal blow.”
“And knew Mags well enough to get very close,” Rhoda said.
“That,” Rick declared, “doesn’t rule out anyone at the party, including crew. But what’s the motive? Come on, darling, let your intuition run amok.”
“Stabbing is very personal,” Rhoda mused. “I’m guessing the motive is about sex or love. That includes jealousy, of course.”
“You can’t rule out hatred,” Rick said.
Rhoda patted her perfect curls. “But how many people carry an instrument that can be used to stab someone? Especially among this crowd.”
“The fair sex,” Rick replied, glancing at each of the women’s feet. “Your high heels would be a perfect weapon.”
“True,” Rhoda agreed. “Maybe we’re looking for a woman with four-inch stilettos who had been spurned by Mags. Or there’s always the long metal nail file.”
Judith’s headache was growing to epic proportions. “Excuse me,” she said in a piteous voice, “Serena and I must be getting back to our stateroom. All this conjecture makes my brain feel like it might explode.”
Rick and Rhoda eyed Judith with interest. “Do you,” Rick asked, “enjoy those mystery party games or perhaps a rousing round of Clue?”
“No! I mean…yes! Yes,” Judith went on, lowering her voice. “I love to play mystery games. I even do the jigsaw-puzzle ones.”
Renie sniggered. “But she’s terrible at it. She wouldn